Bridging Worlds: Book 1 Celestoria's Time
The Hidden Wisdoms of Sylvanus

In the quaint, cozy hut, nestled deep within the heart of the dense forest, Rosche, her brother, and their friend sought refuge for the night. Unbeknownst to them, the elderly man who had kindly welcomed them was none other than Sylvanus Ironforge, a legendary figure in the realm of magic. The scent of hot, aromatic tea and freshly baked breads filled the air, enveloping the room in warmth and comfort.

As Rosche stirred from her slumber, she was greeted by the presence of Master Sylvanus, who was already preparing the morning repast. She yawned and stretched, then addressed him with a friendly smile, “you’re awake... Have a seat and eat,” Sylvanus urged.

Rosche obliged, taking a piece of bread and savoring it. “This is delicious,” she commented with delight.

Sylvanus, too, partook of the bread, nodding appreciatively. Between bites, he inquired, “Where are your friends?”

“They are still sleeping,” Rosche responded, and Sylvanus nodded in understanding. Then, he asked about their wounded comrade, “How about that wounded friend of yours?”

“He seems to be recovering well, and …we only met him yesterday,” Rosche disclosed, her gratitude evident in her words.

Sylvanus acknowledged this with a simple, “Well, it seems like it.” As they continued to eat, Rosche found herself unable to contain her curiosity any longer. She looked at the wise old man and asked, “You are Sylvanus Ironforge, right?”

Sylvanus met her gaze, and replied with a humble nod, “Yes.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Rosche’s face lit up with delight. “I’ve heard so much about you, Master Sylvanus, in Crystalpeak, and I’ve read the books you’ve written,” she said, her admiration evident.

Sylvanus, seemingly unimpressed, reached for a steaming cup of tea. “Oh, really?” he said nonchalantly, taking a sip.

As she contemplated her next words, Rosche took another bite of the delicious bread, savoring the taste while trying to gather her thoughts. Sylvanus, meanwhile, continued to sip his tea, his gaze distant, lost in contemplation of days long gone.

The old man’s enigmatic response had raised more questions than answers. Rosche desperately wanted to delve deeper into the mysteries of the Darkbanes, the Verdant Spire, and the Twelve, but she wasn’t sure how to proceed. She was acutely aware that Sylvanus was not easily impressed, and she didn’t want to overstep or push too hard for information.

After a few moments, she decided to approach the conversation from a different angle. “I heard the Darkbanes also attacked the nearby villages of Celestoria,” Rosche continued. “It was a relief they didn’t find your place here.”

Sylvanus leaned back in his chair; his gaze distant. “Even if they do find it, they wouldn’t see this place. My home is enchanted, and only those whom I permit can see it.”

Rosche nodded, remembering how they had almost missed the hut despite passing through this part of the forest multiple times. “But I heard the Darkbanes have grown in number and recruited formidable allies from different mage communities,” she ventured.

“It’s not their numbers that make them formidable,” Sylvanus said cryptically. “It’s what they possess.”

Perplexed, Rosche asked, “What do you mean, Master Sylvanus?”

Sylvanus leaned in closer, his voice lowering. “How do you think those barbarians managed to kill one of the strongest mages in the realm?”

Rosche was stumped, and she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“They must have the Ardentbane Arrow,” Sylvanus declared solemnly.

“The Ardentbane Arrow... What is that?” Rosche inquired with curiosity.

“The Lost Assassin’s Quill, or what you know as the Ardentbane arrow, is a menacing relic forged by an ancient and malevolent mage who later chose to worship the dark entity. The material used to forge that arrow originated in a sacred place called the Verdant Spire,” Sylvanus explained.

Rosche’s eyes widened at the mention of the Verdant Spire, a place she was not only familiar with but had personally visited. “That place is truly mysterious,” she mused.

Sylvanus sighed, his gaze fixed on some distant memory. “There’s so much you young people don’t know. The Darkbanes didn’t win battles simply because they were numerous or had capable mages. It’s because they possess a multitude of ancient artifacts from the Verdant Spire.” His voice grew quieter, more intense. “And let me tell you something more. Each artifact from that Spire represents death to each member of the Twelve.”

Rosche sat in stunned silence, the weight of Sylvanus’s words sinking in. The hut, the tea, and the bread had become a backdrop to a much larger, more intricate tapestry of danger, intrigue, and ancient magic. Sylvanus Ironforge had unwittingly initiated Rosche into a world of secrets and mysteries, and the journey had only just begun.

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